


press you to the pages

by robokittens



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019-2020 NHL Season, All Manner of Hypothetical Sexual Activities, Extremely Supportive Girlfriends, Fantasizing, Gay Porn Hard, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism, robokittens Vying For #1 Tayler Stan Over Here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25943113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/pseuds/robokittens
Summary: Alex isn't — he'll like. Whatever, with guys. Or he'll … whatever, with Dylan. Dylan's not sure if there's been anyone else — like,probably, but he's never asked and Alex has never said, and Alex is in Adam's hotel room now and the movie is really loud and they're really quiet. Alex talks through movies, especially if he's seen them before.
Relationships: Adam Boqvist/Alex Debrincat, Alex DeBrincat/Dylan Strome, Tayler McMahon/Dylan Strome
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	press you to the pages

**Author's Note:**

> UNDER THE WIRE, BABY. GO HAWKS.
> 
> (yes yes carly rae jepsen but honestly can you blame me, queen of pop)
> 
> POST-GAME EDIT: HOLY SHIT

It isn't — like. Alex has other friends. Alex has always had other friends. It's not new. Fuck — _Dylan_ has always had other friends. They're like … a little weird about each other, sometimes (Dylan's never sure if the media is going a little heavy on it or if they're not even close), but they're not like. Exclusive. If you can be friend-exclusive.

Or … whatever they are-exclusive. They're not _dating_ , obviously; they've both got girlfriends they love. Alex — fuck, Alex has a _fiancée_ and, like, a house. And a rookie.

And that's, ok. If Dylan is gonna be honest, and he tries to be honest with himself: that's what it is. Alex has a rookie.

It's just weird, is all. Obviously they're not rookies themselves anymore, not by a long shot, but — even more than the dogs or the engagement or the house, it's the kid living in the _basement_ of that house that makes Dylan feel like Alex has left him behind. Or … is leaving him behind, which is worse, even, maybe. 

Because it seems like he's still got time to stop it. If he knew how. 

Adam is — honestly not just cool; he's cooler than Dylan has ever been, probably cooler than he'll ever be. He's only a couple years younger than him but he's got the sort of effortless cool that everyone envies, and the sort of geeky, self-effacing humor that makes everyone _like_ him. He's got the kind of fashion sense that Tayler tries to make Dylan feel confident in; it's the same sort of stuff, but Dylan looks like he's trying. Adam doesn't look like he's trying. (Adam reminds Dylan of Tayler, actually, kind of a lot, which … is a path maybe he shouldn't go too far down.)

And Adam is. Ugh. This is like — bitchy, and petty, which Dylan tries not to be. ("Can't help who you are," he can hear Alex say, can feel Alex stretching into him to reach an arm around his shoulders to tug him down, knuckle fingers through his hair.) But he's trying to be honest with himself, so … Adam is. In the next hotel room over. He's got the room next to Dylan's, and it's a nice hotel so the walls aren't thin or anything but sometimes he can hear Swedish pop music or American hip hop or Dacher and Nyls and Mack laughing or — or whatever.

Or Alex. Right now, he can hear Alex. 

Or no. Worse. He _could_ hear Alex. He couldn't hear what they were saying (and he wasn't _listening_ ) but he would — ugh. He would know Alex's voice anywhere. He tcould hear them talking and laughing and, he's pretty sure, fighting over what dumb movie to watch. 

They'd settled on The Dark Knight. Dylan knows, because he can hear it. It's — kind of loud. He can't hear anything else.

And, ok. Just because he has good hair and a lazy smile and wears designer clothes and actually _knows how to dance_ doesn't mean that Adam is — gay, or whatever. ("Bi," he can hear Tayler say, coaching him through it. "Queer. Or, like, you don't have to label yourself. Hey, I love you.")

Alex isn't — he'll like. Whatever, with guys. Or he'll … whatever, with Dylan. He's not sure if there's been anyone else — like, _probably_ , but he's never asked and Alex has never said, and Alex is in Adam's hotel room now and the movie is really loud and they're really quiet. Alex talks through movies, especially if he's seen them before.

The other thing is that Alex is like, dumb hot. Dylan's been gone on him since before then, obviously, when he was babyfaced and even shorter than he is now and couldn't grow — ok, that's a lie; he's always been able to grow a better beard than Dylan. But he _was_ babyfaced. And Dylan _was_ gone on him even then. So he can't imagine that anyone — that _Adam_ , especially, who's cool and hot but also sweet and still a little, like, _oh my god! I'm in the NHL!_ sometimes, and who's living in Alex's _basement_ and babysitting Alex's _dogs_ —

Dylan can't think of why he couldn't take the chance, if he had it. Dylan would. Dylan has.

They would look good, is the thing. Alex is — he's Alex, and Adam is hotter than Dylan, not as tall and not as _gawky_ and nowhere near as awkward, and he has better hair, definitely. He wonders if Adam lets Alex take charge, because Alex is … he's _good_ at it. Good at getting what he wants and good at making you (at making Dylan) want it. He thinks about Alex propped up against the headboard, hand fisted in Adam's hair as Adam licks lazily at his dick, Christian Bale blowing shit up in the background. 

He doesn't mean to think about it. Doesn't want to think about it. But now that he's started he can't stop, palming himself through his sweatpants. He doesn't even imagine it's Alex touching him; just tries to think about touching himself as _he_ mouths at Alex's dick, as _he_ makes Alex feel good.

But he's just. He thinks, maybe, he hears a sound from the next room over. Just a hitch in someone's breath (he'd know Alex's breathing anywhere), just something that might be a moan. He grips himself tighter, feels his dick jump through the layers. 

He wonders how they're doing it: if Adam likes to ride him like Dylan does, if he likes the way that Alex's dick can fill him up _slowly_ and then all at once; if he likes to try to tease Alex like Dylan does, to try and play it cool until he's desperate and can't pretend anymore. Thinks about Adam's legs hitched up over Alex's broad shoulders, Alex moving hard and fast inside him. He wonders if they even got their clothes all the way off, or if Alex is gonna push Adam to the bed and jerk off nearly right in his face, almost letting Adam taste it, pulling back just in time to jizz all over the fucking _Balenciaga_ stretched across his chest. 

He wonders if Alex jerks Adam off, hard and fast and almost _vicious_ , strips his dick until he's red and raw and moaning, or if he saves that for Dylan. Wonders if he fingers Adam till he's writhing with it, desperately humping against the mattress; wonders if he bites at Adam's ears, at his neck, at his shoulders, wonders if he does it hard enough to mark. 

Dylan doesn't even know when he shoved his sweats down, but he's — christ, he's leaking just _thinking_ about it, enough that it's no effort to squeeze his own balls on the way down, to raise his hips (he's not humping into the fucking _air_ , he's not; he's desperate but he's not that desperate) and slip one of his own fingers inside himself. It's not far, not thick and not much, but it's enough that he has to bite back a groan before it slips all the way out of his mouth. 

He wonders if Alex is biting Adam's lips right now, their mouths soft and tender against each other. He wonders what Adam sounds like. He can't quite hear it. His hips hitch up into the air again; his finger slides in deeper. He can't fit in another one, not from this angle, not without lube. Alex could. Alex _would_.

("Fantasies are fantasies." He can practically hear the shrug in Tayler's voice. "If it's not hurting anyone — anyone other than _you_ , anyway —" She'd roll her eyes as she said it, laugh at him, grin bright and wide with her mouth dimpling at the corners, and he'd have to kiss her right then and there.)

He knows he's breathing hard now. The hotel bed's way too nice to creak but the sheets rustle, he thinks maybe he's groaning as he finally works another finger inside himself. He wonders if they can hear him through the wall. He can't decide if he hopes they can. Can't decide if he hopes they would _listen_.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks. _Alex_ , he thinks, but he doesn't say it. Doesn't cry it out. Doesn't think he does, as he comes hot and messy all over himself. Feels himself clench around his own fingers.

He doesn't wipe his hand on the sheets, either; housekeeping's only coming by every couple days, and — he's slept in his own gross, crusty sheets before, and he'd rather not do it again. He wipes both hands off on his own shirt, tugs it over his head and tosses it vaguely in the direction of his suitcase. He thinks about how if he'd come all over Alex, Alex would have made him lick it up. Wouldn't even have had to make him. He wonders if Adam does it without asking, would do it at all.

Through the wall, he can hear Heath Ledger laughing. That's it, though: just the movie. He can't hear anything else.


End file.
